


From the Start

by classicequinox



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (sort of), Backstory, Canon Divergence, Carol is rough around the edges too, Character Development, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Redemption, Relationship Study, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator, Yon-Rogg is a bit of an asshole, dual perspective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-01-25 16:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classicequinox/pseuds/classicequinox
Summary: "You could take a message back for me." Carol suggests. "Tell Supreme Intelligence that I'm coming to end it. The war, the lies, all of it."Yon-Rogg twists back to shoot her a look. "Hard pass."She shrugs.__In which Carol is more angry than dismissive during their confrontation in the desert, and things play out a little differently after they've both had time to cool off. (Read: She knocks Yon-Rogg unconscious, then offers to have him help her and Talos. Things happen.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not going to lie - the way both Carol and Yon-Rogg acted in the desert felt low key OOC to me. I get the directors wanted to play it for humour instead of drama... but that's what fanfic is for, right? Hope you enjoy :)

The best part about having released her full powers, Carol thinks, is flying. It's exhilarating - flying a plane simply can't compare to _being_ both vessel and controls in one. She lets out a whoop as she dives back down through the stratosphere, stomach dropping and wind stinging her eyes, and the desert looms before her once more.

 

Ploughing through the battleship took raw power. Compared to that, Yon-Rogg's little escape pod is nothing. He's good, he's fast - but she's faster. She manoeuvres through the air, scanning the terrain, and spots the pod as it swivels through a crevice. She plunges down with reckless abandon and the world blurs around her. She lands hard on her mark. Yon-Rogg swivels back in his seat - this time, she doesn't give him the chance to dislodge her. A quick blast to the engine and it goes up in smoke. The pod starts hurtling down. Their gazes meet again, a split-second exchange of unspoken challenge and frustrated acknowledgment.

 

Yon-Rogg wrangles with the controls and launches himself into the air just seconds before the pod crashes in a ball of flames. It's a narrow miss. They both land nearby, her simply floating down; him with a clumsier gauntlet-aided crouch.

 

There's a long moment where they both just watch each other. He _almost_ winces when he stands back up and stretches out an arm. His expression flickers as his eyes pass over her - the briefest flash of grudging pride that she doesn't want, not from _him_ , not anymore.

 

"I shouldn't be surprised it's come to this. You've certainly come a long way since then." He says, his voice rougher than it had been just a while ago in the airship. He frames it as an emotionless, factual statement, but it nearly startles her regardless with how cognisant it is of her own thoughts.

 

Carol takes a deep breath to ground herself. "You owe me an explanation."

 

"I don't owe you anything, but what about?" Yon-Rogg says as he leans his weight against a nearby rock. The bravado is a bluff. From the way he regards her warily, they both know who has the upper hand here.

 

Carol ignores him. "Did you know the truth about the Skrulls? About their situation?"

 

"Is that really the burning question you have on your mind?" He counters, raising an eyebrow, and she hates how well she can read the lines of tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes search for openings yet never seem to drift away from her. Things he'd tried to teach her.

 

She pushes all of that to the back of her mind. "Just answer the question." She grits out.

 

Yon-Rogg regards her with a level gaze. "Yes."

 

"And you're perfectly okay with it?" She presses on coldly.

 

"It doesn't matter how I feel. There's no place for emotions in a war. The Kree Empire was - and is - at war with the Skrulls. As a colonel, it's my duty to carry out the empire's ideology and ensure our victory." Yon-Rogg says, crossing his arms. A challenge to claim otherwise is written in the tilt of his head.

 

Textbook avoidance. He sounds like a propaganda lesson. It feels like a slap in the face. Was this all there ever was to him?

 

"So you're telling me that you're just a mindless pawn." Carol scoffs, feeling bile rise up the back of her throat. She swore she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her anger, but - "All the better for killing and kidnapping, right? Nothing's beyond your limits if you're just following orders, certainly not taking someone and brainwashing them-"

 

He lets out a long sigh. "I understand how you feel, but _honestly_ , what would you rather I'd done? Let Minn-Erva shoot you? Leave you there to deal with it alone with no idea what happened? You would have lost control and killed everyone you cared for." Yon-Rogg sneers. "I probably saved your life. Your human body couldn't handle the power. Logically speaking-"

 

" _No!_ Don't pretend to understand and don't you dare claim that you did it for me." Carol shouts, the anger and sense of _betrayal_ she'd repressed finally leaking through. "I would rather have died than have your blood running through my veins. You killed Mar-Vell then turned me into a weapon going against everything she stood for! What _logical_ person would be alright with _that_?" 

 

"You're being unreasonable-" Yon-Rogg starts, annoyance creeping into his tone, but Carol cuts him off again.

 

" _I'm_ being unreasonable? I have every right-"

 

"What, do you think it was all a walk in the park for me then?" Yon-Rogg snaps, his voice rising. "Mar-Vell was your mentor for three, four years? I knew her for more than _ten_. I compartmentalised my feelings and did what I had to, and that also applies to this situation with _you_."

 

There's a long moment of silence in the air at that, just the sound of their ragged breathing and nothing else. All that he just said - it just makes it worse.

 

"You knew Mar-Vell personally, and you just killed her point blank in the name of _duty_ for an empire that considers you second-rate. How is that supposed to make it better?" Carol snarls, heart pounding in her ears. Words claw up her throat, pouring out before she can register them. "All it does is confirm you've no will of your own, and that you're confusing your supposedly useless feelings with your conscience and _morality_. Just about everyone would have been happier if you'd died instead of Mar-Vell that day!"

 

She doesn't expect him to flinch at that, as if what she said might have actually hurt him, as if it _could._

 

"I-" Yon-Rogg starts, his brows furrowed as if he's only just realised how colossally he's fucked up, or maybe he still hasn't and all he's realised is the dangerous situation that he's in now. This was who she'd trusted – _wanted_ , even - for the past few years? She feels like she could be sick. The power simmering beneath her skin comes to a boil and she swings a palm out reflexively. A blast of white-hot energy hurtles towards him - he doesn't dodge, maybe he couldn't if he wanted to - and the impact sends him into the air like a rag-doll, throwing him across the landscape. He lands at least a hundred metres from where they were, crumpling onto the ground in a heap.

 

She stands still for a few seconds, fists clenched. It takes a while of nothing but deep breaths before the pounding in her ears fades and the heady power coursing through her veins ebbs, slowly replaced by a dull thrum of inexplicable concern that he doesn't deserve.

 

Numbly, Carol makes her way towards where he landed. It doesn't look good. He hit his head on the rocky terrain. A rivulet of blue blood trickles from the side of his head and pools in the dirt. There's no saying how much impact his armour has absorbed and how much he could naturally handle of what was left, but his limbs are at an awkward angle, so some fractures and broken bones are probably in order.

 

He looks dead.

 

Her blood runs cold. There's a part of her that says good riddance, but - she leans down and presses two fingers to his neck. His pulse is faint, but present. A sigh - a mix of exhaustion and relief - slips out in spite of herself.

 

Krees are hardier than humans. If he's alive, he'll survive.

 

Carol deliberates for a while, faintly regretting taking Fury's pager. How are communications so backward in her homeland? She bites her lip. Leaving him here is an option, but then he might be stranded on earth for goodness knows how long and she doesn't want him hanging around. She regrets ruining the escape pod, although she honestly wouldn't have been able to send him into deep space in this state in good conscience anyway. The last thing she wants to be is a hypocrite.

 

With a lack of alternatives, she speaks into her comms device, banking on the chance that Maria's still in the cruiser. "This is Carol. The situation here is settled. Where are you guys?"

 

She's in luck. The speaker crackles. She expects to hear Maria, but it's Fury that answers. A wave of coldness clenches over her heart. She immediately asks about Maria, dreading the worst - because how would she ever be able to face Monica when she'd asked her mum to come - and it's her body's greatest betrayal that her relief only matches her previous relief instead of surpassing it.

 

It doesn't take her long to get to where they are. She lands before Fury, raising an eyebrow at the fresh claw wounds over his left eye. As far as she knows, no Kree or Skrull fights with claws.

 

"Cat got your tongue?" She asks with a smirk that's only slightly forced.

 

"No, the _little demon_ got my eye well and good. Fury rolls his remaining eye good-naturedly. "What's the situation with the dead weight in your arms?"

 

She dumps Yon-Rogg unceremoniously at Fury's feet. "Can you arrange somewhere for him for a couple of days?"

 

Fury looks down at Yon-Rogg and lets out a low whistle. "Sure he doesn't need medical attention? And you want him detained or put in a safe house? With surveillance of course."

 

"Just a dressing for the head wound. And whichever option is easier for you." Carol bends down, deactivating Yon-Rogg's armour and removing the control vambrace with ease. She pries off the magnitron gauntlets as well, offering one of them to Fury.

 

"If he'll behave, the safe house. Less paperwork." Fury says absently, turning the gauntlet over in his hands and inspecting it from various angles. He sighs, passing it back to Carol.

 

She cocks her head in silent question.

 

"No point rushing things." Fury shrugs. "Besides, I have something else in mind… and you should too." He says, jerking his head towards her right. It's all the warning she gets before Maria almost barrels into her, waving something in her hands.

 

They all laugh, and the tight knot of tension in her chest finally starts to loosen.

 

*****

 

She spends the next three days catching up with Maria and Monica without any threat hanging over their heads. It's amazing, and there's so much she wishes she hadn't missed. Even now, there's a part of her that doesn't want to leave, but that's not fair to anyone. Her slower aging is just one part of the problem. These memories, of Maria laughing and throwing her head back, of Monica smiling at her mischievously, are ones she'll treasure forever.

 

Sadly, it doesn't mean she can - or does - forget about Yon-Rogg.

 

Fury gives her periodic updates on his status whenever he has time between wrangling with Goose and doing whatever it is he's doing now. ("Carol, he's up. Ha, you should have seen his face when he heard your message." "Are all Krees this blase with waking up in unknown places? He's even making the bed." "Should he really be doing martial kata? Damn, do all aliens have enhanced healing factors?" "By the way, the asshole's written a memo asking for an update and it's blocking one of the cameras.")

 

That's her cue to drop by, though she makes sure to take her time with it.

 

Fury's coordinates leads her to the doorstep of a flat in a well-maintained, surprisingly modern short-storey apartment complex. She lets herself in with the biometric lock on the door. It swings open, and she's greeted by the sight of Yon-Rogg taking a sip of tea at the coffee table.

 

Their eyes meet.

 

He's in a simple grey shirt and black slacks. The wound on his head has largely healed over, although it still looks tender. There's a huge disparity there from their previous meeting in full armour, accompanied by rage and frustration and spewing venom at each other. Some part of her still feels like punching him in the face, but technically, she's already done the powered-up version of that, and now most of her just feels... drained.

 

"Vers. To what pleasure do I owe this visit?" Yon-Rogg breaks the silent impasse.

 

"Carol." She corrects firmly.

 

"Carol, then." He amends airily.

 

It doesn't feel right for them to have a civil conversation, not after what happened in the desert, but what is she supposed to do? Ask him not to be polite? Pick a fight just for the sake of it?

 

"I see you're healing quite well." She comments carefully.

 

"The broken ribs and fractured bones are still a work in progress, but it's enough for me to bathe and cook." Yon-Rogg says mildly, ever impassive and controlled, like whatever happened three days ago never happened. She doesn't like it.

 

"Cook?" She raises an eyebrow. She's never actually seen him cook in all their six years.

 

"There's no meal plan for me to subscribe to, is there?" Yon-Rogg asks dryly.

 

"Not that I know of." Carol agrees. "But discussing meal plans is not what I'm here for."

 

"Of course not." Yon-Rogg answers in the same conversational tone. "You know, I honestly thought you'd meant to kill me. That was quite a blast."

 

Whatever Yon-Rogg's plan is here, Carol refuses to be thrown off. She makes herself comfortable on one of the arm chairs, sparing a glance at the abstract humanoid sculptures on the mantelpiece.

 

"I just wanted you to shut up. If I'd meant to kill you, you'd have known." She says lightly.

 

Yon-Rogg makes for the kitchen counter. She watches his gait, absently noting that he's placing more weight on his left leg.

 

"You might as well have. It would be suicide for me to go back to Hala empty handed." Yon-Rogg says, fiddling with the coffee machine.

 

The sad thing is, he isn't exaggerating.

 

"You could take a message back for me." Carol suggests. "Tell Supreme Intelligence that I'm coming to end it. The war, the lies, all of it."

 

He twists back to shoot her a look. "Hard pass."

 

She shrugs.

 

The coffee machine finishes whirring. Yon-Rogg walks back, passing her a mug as if they're having a tea party. She accepts it, because with how things have been going, why not? She takes a sip - nothing fantastic, but it's black with a little too much sugar, just the way she likes it. 

 

"Who says you have to go back anyway?" Carol asks after another sip.

 

"Where else would I go?" He counters as he sits back down, sounding genuinely bewildered.

 

Carol sighs. " _Anywhere_. I just don't want you on Earth when I'm not around. We can drop you off at some merchant planet, or-"

 

She cuts herself off as an idea of pure insanity hits her. It's more trouble than it's worth, but… the potential payoff does have some merits.

 

She's powerful, but her goals are monumental and she has limits.

 

They have history - that's both a pro and a con, but it means she knows what to expect. Mostly.

 

He _could_ be a useful ally - instead of an enemy who knows more about her than she's comfortable with.

 

He would be a ticking time bomb.

 

"I'm going to ask you this again, and this time I want your answer. Not Supreme Intelligence's." Carol says slowly. Yon-Rogg raises an eyebrow at her, and she takes it as a cue to continue. "What's your take on the Kree-Skrull war?"

 

He stills, then gives her a level look as if he's the one testing her. She bristles even as he speaks. "How can you be sure that whatever I tell you is the truth?"

 

 _Because I can read you_. “Because I know your tells." She says instead, adding a jab. "Besides, the whole backstory thing aside, you've never managed or bothered to lie to me about anything else, have you?"

 

They stare at each other, both unwilling to back down. In the end, Yon-Rogg cracks first. He rakes his fingers through his hair, looking tired in a way she's seen on him very rarely. "Fine. If it had been up to me, I would have ensured the Skrulls weren't encroaching on Kree territories. Nothing more, nothing less. No targeting civilians unless there's no alternative. It's resource-insufficient to pursue a genocidal policy once a critical threshold has already been reached." Yon-Rogg cuts himself off as if there are words on the tip of his tongue, but he's debating if he should continue. Carol gestures for him to. He sighs yet again. "…Which we have." He concedes slightly sourly.

 

It's not exactly what she wants to hear, but it's good enough, and matches up with what she's seen of him. Something dangerously close to pride swells in her chest but she quickly clamps it down, reminding herself of everything else that she can't - and shouldn't - forget.

 

"And this is relevant because?" He prompts.

 

Is she really doing this? It would be safer not to risk him jeopardising everyone. It would be more rational to avoid him, what with their complicated… history.

 

Carol gulps down another mouthful of coffee.

 

Ah hell, she's never been known for safe or rational.

 

"Because you could come with me and help." She says seriously.

 

He actually gapes at her, but it's the way he misses a beat before answering that lets her know he's actually surprised.

 

"With what?"

 

"All that I said just now. But in the more immediate future, going with Talos and helping the Skrulls find a home." Carol answers.

 

He lets out a short laugh. "You're joking, right?"

 

She maintains the cool weight of her gaze.

 

Yon-Rogg closes his eyes and mutters something darkly under his breath, placing his mug back on the table. When he speaks again, it's in a low tone that has lost all trace of humour.

 

"You can't be serious. You can't really be asking _me_ to just drop everything I've ever had - not that there'll be much left for me if I go back now, I admit - but it's one thing to fail and be punished and another thing entirely to go rogue and betray the empire just to avoid that." Yon-Rogg pauses, a strange look flitting across his face. "That aside, there's still two obvious flaws. First of all, there's no reason for us to trust each other. _You_ absolutely shouldn't trust me unless you're a fool. Secondly, your Skrull friends would sooner eviscerate me than agree to this. Among other things, recall that I shot their leader in the chest." He enunciates the last few words with dry emphasis.

 

"Talos is still alive. I took down twenty of his best men and half of them suffocated in space." Carol says evenly. She's not proud of it, but it's the truth. Yon-Rogg opens his mouth to say something, but she continues before he can speak. "Look, I haven't forgiven you for anything and I sure as hell don't trust you anymore, but I'm willing to work on it if you give me a reason to. And you lack options. If you have any sense of self-preservation and you aren't going back, you might as well do something productive. So I'm just gonna leave this as an option in case you ever decide to grow up and do something you can be proud of, instead of devoting your life to being some blindly loyal pawn for an empire that would throw you away at the blink of an eye."

 

Her words come out harsher than she'd meant them to, a little too much like at the desert, but she doesn't take them back.

 

Their gazes lock, his yellow eyes boring a hole into hers. His expression remains impassive, but it doesn't hide the tension in his jaw.

 

"Are you trying to save me?" He asks coldly, adding finger quotes during the word save, and it's a slightly disturbing realisation that that's probably something he picked up from her without being conscious of it himself. "Or do you just want me to prove myself to you?"

 

Carol rolls her eyes. "Neither. If anything, I'd rather you prove yourself to you."

 

He stills, and there's a flash of something in his eyes that she can't quite read. Hopefully, it's her point drilling through his thick skull. Their staring match lasts for another few seconds  before he leans back, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Fine. When do you want an answer by?"

 

"Three days." It's enough time for him to finish healing, for her to spend time with and say goodbye to Maria, Monica, Fury... and to have a proper discussion with Talos. "If you're doing this, don't come up with any ideas of internal sabotage. If you dare try-"

 

"I get the point. You'll destroy me." He interjects with the ghost of a smirk. "Rest assured, my injuries don't include brain damage."

 

"Oh, I don't know. You could still have a death wish." Carol replies almost reflexively, a corner of her lips quirking up before she catches herself.

 

She hates how easy it would be to fall back into their old habits of banter. It's not unexpected, but it's still frustrating that this should come so naturally when there's still occasional awkward lulls in her interactions with Maria, a sense that she would have reacted differently to some jokes six years ago but not quite knowing how or why. Maybe she ought to be more angry, but he and the other Krees don’t deserve any further vindication.

 

(It doesn't escape her notice that Yon-Rogg made to say something, only to snap his mouth shut. How is she supposed to feel if it goes both ways?)

 

Carol frowns. Well, she's said what she had to say. There's no reason to linger and let things complicate any further.

 

"Do you have enough to eat till then?" She asks, because she isn't a monster.

 

Yon-Rogg nods perfunctorily, apparently having recovered from whatever chatty mood he'd been in.

 

Well then.

 

"I'll drop by with what's left of your armour on Thursday. Think about it." She says as she stands up and makes her way to the door. She downs the rest of her coffee, just to break the tension that's settled in the air.

 

"…I will." Yon-Rogg replies, his voice having gone polite and neutral. It reminds her of a cold, sterile room, a transfusion bag of blue blood, of getting so far only to come full circle.

 

Carol's fingers close around the door knob just a little too hard. She shows herself out, doing her best not to think about what has just transpired, or of all that has happened, and what just might.

 

She shakes her head, annoyed, as she reaches the bottom of the last flight of stairs. If she's got anything to say about this, it's that maybe she should take Fury up on his offer after all. Knocking back a couple of pints has never sounded like a better idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support so far, and apologies for the delay! Watching endgame drowned me in too much feels to do Yon-Rogg and Carol justice. I'm a teeny bit unsatisfied with this chapter because Yon-Rogg's POV was quite hard to get right because who knows what goes through his mind? (I have so many versions with different variations of the few scenes here it's quite ridiculous). I hope you enjoy reading this regardless!

Sleep never found Yon-Rogg easily; not back on Hala, and certainly not here. Injury-induced lethargy had helped for the first few nights, but its effects have long since started to fade, and rising in its place is a dull sense of unease that is only exacerbated by the constant surveillance in the apartment.

 

He shifts, making sure that his face is still hidden in the shadows, away from the camera planted among the display items on the shelf. Not for the first time, he wishes he had an avenue to work off his excess energy. 

 

Ver's - Carol's - words from this morning still echo in his head.

 

From the very start, he'd prepared for the day she remembered. Countless scenarios had ran through his head - of her leaving, of him cutting her loose, of turning her in to the Supreme Intelligence… or of her choosing to stay. He'd never truly entertained that last option, instead assuming that the day truth came to light, they would become enemies or at the very least, estranged. But in the end, she'd surprised him yet again. Not just by surpassing his expectations in terms of accessing her powers, but also with her… ludicrous offer.

 

It's frustrating how similar Carol is to Vers, down to her every mannerism. He'd always associated the return of Carol's human memories with Vers ceasing to exist. There may be a grain of truth in that, but it's only now that he realises how naive it was of him.

 

It pains him to admit that he isn't the one with power in this situation. With the tesseract under her protection, there's no way he can take the most expedient route of acquiring it to redeem his failure in the eyes of Supreme Intelligence.

 

Barring that, he lacks desirable options.

 

He _could_ simply slink back to Hala. His track record has a high chance of getting him out of a literal death sentence, or even any corporal punishment. His death would be considerably more intangible - stripped of his current title, resigned to decades of military stagnancy. All those years’ worth of blood and sweat trying to keep up with - catch up to - the pure-blood Krees of his batch would be rendered moot... to an even more hopeless extent than it already is.

 

Yon-Rogg grits his teeth. No, that's not a real option. He can’t afford to have this failure imprinted in his records. That, in turn, means that he has to bide his time. He could go solo - but what then? He's never been one for vague, extended solitary efforts. Unlike Mar-Vell when she defected, he has nothing to his name but his personal equipment, and that's before taking into account however damaged they are.

 

Compared to that uncertainty, Carol's offer is infinitely more appealing, if only because it opens more possibilities.

 

(Her overall argument is weak. He's always found pride in himself - if not for what he's done, then for all that he's managed to accomplished while playing within the confines of the system. There's nothing that he regrets, not really, because the Skrulls and Terrans aren't as weak or harmless as Carol now portrays. She _should_ know better, with all that she's seen as Vers. And didn't the terran pilot barrel into Minn-Erva without any hesitation? It's plausible, but highly unlikely that she survived the impact. In fact, he doesn't know if any one else in his team has survived at all. There's a slight pang in his chest at the thought, but there's no point speculating, and so he firmly shoves the thought to the side.)

 

Rehousing the civilians is a… charity project at best. As long as Yon-Rogg doesn't leak any classified information, he isn't truly betraying his homeland. Carol - and the Skrulls, definitely - won't trust him immediately. But if he plays the long-term game and renders enough assistance to prevent arousing more suspicion, he might be able to gain some intelligence as a bargaining chip for his return to Hala.

 

(And in the extremely, unlikely case that he grows insane or circumstances force his hand, the choice _is_ there to simply… defect for real.)

 

His answer rings hollow and unsatisfying in his own head, but it's enough to let him drift to sleep.

 

*****

 

"This pager was Fury's, I presume?" Talos asks as he hands it back to her. "As you requested, one of my technicians has made the necessary modifications to enable intergalactic communications. All you have to do is…" His voice trails away as Carol touches the pager to her control panel and transfers the necessary data. "Or that."

 

"I guess the Krees got some things right when it comes to tech user-friendliness." Carol says, giving Talos a smile. "Thanks for the help." Then, she pauses. "By the way, are you free after this? There's something I need to discuss with you after I pass this to Fury."

 

It's probably terrible of her to spring this on him right after their little celebratory dinner, but it's not like she should put it off any longer.

 

*****

 

As expected, Talos isn't a fan of her proposal.

 

"I don't want to make excuses for him, but he has some redeeming points." Carol says half-heartedly.

 

The sad thing is, she actually believes it.

 

"Even if that's true, his loyalties lie elsewhere." Talos presses his lips together. "It's a big risk for everyone on board to bring your moral pet project with us."

 

Carol grimaces at his phrasing.

 

"I'm honestly not that invested in him coming along." She says. "If you're against it, I can just drop him off at a nearby star system."

 

Talos sighs, drumming his fingers against the table. "This cruiser was Mar-Vell's, and you're her successor in the ways that count. You have as much a say as I do. It's the least I can do for your assistance." He says, his voice growing firmer. "I will consider it, but I want to speak to him before I make a final decision."

 

The insinuation that this is her condition for helping makes her frown, but if that's what it takes for Talos to be willing to give this a shot, she won't go out of her way to correct him.

 

"Be my guest. And don't worry, I'll make sure he keeps in line if he does come." Carol says confidently.

 

"But if he creates problems?" Talos presses.  

 

"I'll stop him. And then kick him out on the next planet we see." She promises.

 

"There will be times when you can't be there to help." Talos sighs again, looking very old for a moment. "But I suppose we shall wait for his answer."

 

It's hard to consider it a win when she isn't sure what the outcome that she actually wants even is. But all things considered, the conversation could have gone a lot worse.

 

\---

 

Maria had expressed her concerns, but reiterated that she trusted Carol to know what would work best; Fury had laughed and called her insane. It's just as well that Carol doesn't put that much stock in his judgment. Considering his fondness for Goose even after losing one eye to the flerken, his own sanity is somewhat questionable.

 

As it is, Yon-Rogg is no match for her now. She trusts herself to be able to handle him if he comes along and tries to stage some form of sabotage. But considering how he reacted on Tuesday, that in itself is unlikely. While he isn't a fanatic by any means, he has always come across as blindly loyal as the rest of the Krees she's met, of course with the exception of Mar-Vell. Honestly, she's probably worried all of them for nothing.

 

This time, when she opens the door, Yon-Rogg is waiting for her. If he has any further opinion on the colour scheme of her modified Starforce armour, he doesn't voice them. Instead, his eyes flit to the paper bag she carries with all his equipment. For one second, Carol wonders if he's going to foolishly make a lunge for it and try to run, but the moment passes, and he doesn't.

 

She closes the door behind her. This time, Yon-Rogg doesn't make any attempt to show her in, so they remain standing at the doorway. It seems they're agreed that this isn't the time for drinks or small talk.

 

"Well?" She asks, jumping straight into it.

 

"I have three questions." He replies, his voice going straight into what she had once dubbed mission-mode.

 

"They better be quick." Carol says, leaning against the door.

 

Yon-Rogg takes that as the invitation that it is to start. "Did any members of Starforce survive aside from me?"

 

Carol stills, slightly uncomfortable. She hadn't thought that this would be the first thing in his mind, although she isn't sure how it factors into his decision. She could lie, but that doesn't feel right. She doesn't like playing games with people... and she knows for a fact he did care about his team. Even if it had been a lie in the end, she probably would have been more conflicted if it hadn't been Minn-Erva, who along with Korath, had done the least to make her feel welcome. At least now she knows why.

 

She keeps her tone carefully blank. "Minn-Erva did not. I'm not sure about the rest."

 

Yon-Rogg's eyes flutter shut. He nods slowly in acknowledgement. By the time he looks up, the only sign of distress left is the tension in his jaw.

 

Part of her wants to tell him it's okay to grieve openly, but that's neither here nor there. Not with the circumstances; not when they had been on opposite sides in that battle - and when they still might be.

 

"The _Helion_ is gone, I presume?" He asks tiredly.

 

"Yes." Carol says, seeing no point of withholding information about this either.

 

Yon-Rogg nods absently, this time without hesitation. _That_ answer had been anticipated.  

 

"Last question. What have you done with the power source?" He asks. There's an air of resignation about him now, as if he doesn't expect an actual answer, but is simply going through the motions for the sake of it. Sometimes, she doesn't understand him at all.

 

"The flerken ate it." Carol opts for the truth yet again, if only because it's impossible for Yon-Rogg to get to it now without being 'eaten' himself.

 

"Very funny," Yon-Rogg rolls his eyes - the first sign of humour he's showed so far. "You couldn't think of a better excuse?"

 

Carol lets out a small grin. "It's actually true."

 

He stares at her, searching for chinks in her armour. A wave of amusement crests in her chest at the aghast expression that grows on his face, before the moment passes and he schools it back into inscrutability.

 

"So, what's your decision?" She prompts, crossing her arms. They don't have all day, and she won't deny that she's curious about his decision, even if it's unlikely to be -

 

"I will take you up on your offer."

 

Carol blinks. Huh.

 

"I was not expecting that." She admits, feeling a maelstrom of conflicting emotions beginning to brew deep within her. If he really does come, that means she won't be uprooting herself from _everything_. But there's a lot that they're going to have to iron out for this to be successful, and keeping an eye on him will be extra work. A part of her is pleased; a part of her really _isn't_ , and most of her is just surprised. She half expects him to take the moment to clarify that he just meant that he wanted to hitch a ride.

 

"Nor was I." Yon-Rogg says instead, an iota of self-deprecating humour buried within his bone-dry delivery.

 

She fixes him with a searching look, letting her disbelief leak through. "You're serious about this? About what it means?"

 

"Yes." Yon-Rogg says simply, his gaze unyielding in its intensity. He's still tense, but his shoulders have relaxed marginally. This isn't a spur of the moment thing; her answers had merely confirmed his decision.

 

So, this is it. It feels a little anticlimactic, somehow. She'd expected to have a stronger reaction to it herself.

 

Carol holds out the paper bag to him by its handle. He regards her for a moment, then reaches out to take it from her. Their fingers brush. Neither of them flinches. His gaze drops down as he opens the bag and starts inspecting his equipment methodically. She had looked through it herself; the cuisses and greaves are the only parts in actual need of repair. She'd left the gauntlets in there, but not his standard-issue pistol. She'll pass that to him later if things go well.

 

She cracks a grin. "I would say welcome to the team, but Talos wants to interview you first."

 

Yon-Rogg looks up at that, giving her one of his patented unimpressed looks. "I should ask, in what capacity exactly do you expect me to help?"

 

"Whatever there is that you can." Carol says, internally contemplating. She had never been good at things like dividing labour. Not that she had ever been placed in the position for it. "You can discuss that with Talos." She checks her wrist. "We're due to meet up with him."

 

"Right now?"

 

She smirks. Yon-Rogg lets out a long-suffering sigh.

 

Suffice to say, Yon-Rogg isn't impressed by her choice of transportation, which can be summarised as her bodily dragging him via photon-powered flight to the very same desert they'd ended up in a few days ago.

 

When they get there, Talos is already waiting.

 

Yon-Rogg has never been a particularly imposing figure in terms of stature alone, but his position and charisma had more than made up for it. So, it's a little strange for her to watch him standing there in regular clothes without his equipment, while Talos stands opposite him in full armour, a landing ship behind him.

 

"General Talos." Yon-Rogg greets impassively, his expression closed off.

 

"Commander Yon-Rogg." Talos replies in the same cool tone.

 

Their faces both look like they could be carved from stone. It's a frigid exchange that Carol personally isn't used to from either of them. At the very least, they don't seem to be raring for a fight. Just as well, since that makes her presence unnecessary and frees her up to make her farewells.

 

"Play nice." Carol says right before she flies off, unsure which of them she's actually directing it to.

 

*****

 

"Shall we take this conversation inside?" Talos gestures to the small, landing ship behind him. It's of Kree make, likely another ship from Mar-Vell's laboratory. "We can head up first."

 

The skrull's cadence makes no pretence of it being a suggestion.

 

"By all means." Yon-Rogg says with a tight smile.

 

They enter the plane. Talos gestures to the cockpit seat. Yon-Rogg raises an eyebrow in silent question.

 

"If you try anything, you'll have a hole in your head." Talos says in a genial tone that doesn't quite have its desired effect. He takes a seat diagonally behind, plainly intent on keeping an eye on Yon-Rogg throughout the minutes-long ride. To his credit, he has the courtesy not to sit directly behind, instead opting for the one diagonally across. It isn't ideal, especially with his lack of armour, but Yon-Rogg will still be able to catch any sudden movements out of the corner of his eye.

 

The ship's system is slightly outdated, but it's one he's familiar with. He scrolls through the holographic displays, checking the readings on the thrusters as he gets ready for launch. The indicator lights blink to life one by one, and he clears himself for take-off.

 

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Talos breaks the silence once they're hurtling up.

 

He waits for a beat before answering. "I'm not seeking anything like forgiveness." He says bluntly. "We were on opposite sides. Now, we are not."

 

Talos regards him. "I was under the impression that someone in your position would be more apologetic. Or rather, at least try to appear so."

 

Yon-Rogg keeps his expression impassive. "As you said, we've been indirectly acquainted for a long time. Your usual network aside, Soh-Larr and I had been rather well-acquainted back in the day."

 

He fully expects the skrull to catch the pointed accusation, and the humourless laugh he receives confirms it. "Indeed, your reputation precedes you. I've heard it's quite rare for a pink kree to get a commanding position at your age."

 

Yon-Rogg squares his jaw.

 

A flashing light on the ship's scanner indicates they've reached the cruiser. The hangar opens up for them once they're within range. He manoeuvres the ship in smoothly and brings them in for a clean landing.

 

They maintain their silence as they disembark. The hangar has been neatened since he'd last seen it, but the number of ships is the same. There's no sign of anyone else, no troop of Skrull soldiers lying in wait for an ambush like he'd feared.

 

"If you threaten the wellbeing of the women and children in any way…" Talos starts, his eyes glittering in warning, cold and hard.

 

"I take no pleasure in harming civilians." Yon-Rogg says primly. "You have my word that I will not."

 

Talos searches his face for a few moments. "The fact that you're one of the few moderates in the Kree Imperial Army is the only reason we're talking now."

 

Has that become common knowledge? How… problematic if anyone digging up information on him can come to that conclusion so readily. In this case, however, he's hard-pressed to admit that it is advantageous.

 

"Then, you should also have heard that I am a man of my word." Yon-Rogg pushes.

 

"Except for how you're currently betraying your empire?" Talos asks, tone neutral but eyes boring into him, knife-sharp in their intensity.

 

Yon-Rogg quashes down the wave of frustration that washes through him. He fixes Talos with a hard look. "I will do nothing to hinder the Kree cause beyond helping you find a home. That was what I discussed with Carol." He lies smoothly.

 

There's a flicker of surprise in Talos's eyes. Yon-Rogg raises his eyebrows in silent question. That hadn't been a particularly shocking thing he'd said.

 

"It's rather… peculiar." Talos pauses, shaking his head. "That reminded me of the first conversation I had with her a long time ago."

 

Yon-Rogg stiffens, a pit forming at the bottom of his stomach at the implication.

 

"Mar-Vell." He says flatly.

 

Talos nods, something softening in his expression for the first time since they started speaking. "I do not trust you, but I will give you the benefit of doubt. I am well aware that, well, as _you_ would know firsthand, your intentions will be…" Talos waves a hand.

 

"Construed as high treason regardless?" Yon-Rogg finishes with a touch of sarcasm, even as the pit in his stomach grows into a yawning chasm.

 

Talos smiles wryly in acknowledgement. "We will discuss the specifics later when our plans are more… concrete."

 

Which means that they are either even more disorganised than he'd assumed, or that they want to withhold any strategic information from him. He fights the urge to sneer, and instead nods curtly. "Very well."

 

Just when Yon-Rogg thinks that the conversation is over, Talos does the unthinkable. He offers his hand.

 

Yon-Rogg simply stares for a moment.

 

There's no reason for this, but there's also no reason _not_ to. And if he wants their trust, which he'll require no matter he chooses to do, there's no point in being difficult. So, he swallows his pride and shakes the skrull's hand, feeling irrationally like he's sold his soul.

 

"…I suppose there's no reason you shouldn't choose a room first. Shall we?"

 

Yon-Rogg's feet work on autopilot as Talos shows him the way to a series of metal doors.

 

"These are all empty." Talos says.

 

Yon-Rogg nods sharply. The skrull walks away, leaving him alone in the middle of the hallway with his thoughts.

 

It's ironic. He was the one who had cut Mar-Vell down, and now he's… helping to finish what she'd started. He lets out a sharp sigh. How had he been so blind as to not realise precisely what he'd signed up for, particularly in terms of how it looked like on paper? It had sounded perfectly justifiable in his head – never mind that, when it boiled down to it, it had been all that Mar-Vell had done.

 

There's a veritable cornucopia of implications there that he's inclined to ignore.

 

Granted, it's not like he's going rogue in a flashy manner like Mar-Vell did, approportioning the imperial cruiser loaned to her as a research base and then disappearing off the grid in it. As it is, he's unlikely to register on the Empire's radar. If the surviving Starforce members return to Hala on the _Helion_ , he'll be written off either as dead, or a deserter. It's a necessary evil if he wants long-term pay-offs, but subtlety is key. If he's ever discovered to be helping the Skrulls in any capacity, if he's publicly denounced as a _traitor_ like Mar-Vell, then information won't be enough. The only way he can ever go back without being shot on sight is if he hands the empire the Skrulls, the power source… and Carol Danvers on a silver platter.

 

(They had warned him, four years ago, not to get attached to the 'weapon'. And he'd listened, distanced himself, let them intervene when they thought they should. There's no one to do that now. Just Carol's sense of betrayal, and his own self-control. He had done all that, _could_ do all that, and they would still use this failure as an excuse. The game of catch up is rigged. Does he really want to go back to the condescension that is the inevitable status quo?)

 

It's all he's ever known, but that's… soon to change.

 

It's faintly disgusting and embarrassing, really, that the best thing he can do right now is keep his options open and simply react. Soon, he's going to sound like-

 

"Yon-Rogg." 

 

His first instinct is to jerk, but he catches himself in time to convert the aborted motion into the smooth angling of his body towards her.

 

That was faster than he'd expected.

 

She mustn't have noticed how tousled her hair is. Not in a conventionally attractive manner, but instead characteristic of a mad woman who'd simply flown into space instead of taking a landing ship like a normal person - which, granted, is the antithesis of all that she is.

 

"How long have you been standing outside that door?" Carol asks.

 

There they go again: a split-second exchange when their eyes meet - the unspoken questions of _'what's it going to be', 'how are we playing this'_ written in the quirk of his brow and the narrowing of her eyes. The tip-toeing is nothing short of annoying, when all their interactions before had been nothing short of direct.

 

This time, she gives a small one-shoulder shrug, and he takes her cue. He looks down and checks his wrist panel. "Around six minutes and thirty seconds, I believe."

 

Carol gives him an odd look. "Have you taken up wall watching?"

 

"Whose fault would it be if I've become an expert over the past few days?" Yon-Rogg counters, wishing the distraction wasn't quite so welcome. He twists the door knob closest to him - the one right at the start of the hallway - and pushes. A musty and faintly sour smell assaults his nose. He grimaces. The room needs airing. He pushes open the door until its hinges creak in protest.

 

"Your own? Senility isn't transmissible." Carol offers in a faux-innocent tone.

 

Yon-Rogg scoffs. "I'll make sure to send you the bill for my medical fees if it comes to that." He reaches in to flick on the lights, drowning the room in sterile whiteness. It's a simple, metallic monochrome affair - a bed, a desk, a set of drawers - designed for function, not comfort nor form.

 

"You can try, but you do realise we're both destitute now." Carol says. She nudges him and peers past him into the room, wrinkling her nose at the smell.

 

Yon-Rogg pauses. He had not, in fact, thought about his finances, if only because they had never been a problem. He holds back a sigh. Yet another problem to consider, on top of the everlasting discourse on just what it is he's trying to achieve.

 

"Don't you have your own room to pick?" He asks abruptly.

 

"You make it sound like there's actually a difference." Carol points out dryly as he places his paper bag on the table. "I'll just take the one next door. I gotta check something with Talos first anyway."

 

It's difficult not to feel a flash of vindictive satisfaction, a childish quasi-thought of 'she-came-here-first' that he will never publicly admit to.

 

(She's no longer his protege. She's either an accomplice or an enemy, and he won't make the same mistake again; he won't allow his… base instincts to cloud his judgment.)

 

But.

 

"You might want to brush your hair before that." Yon-Rogg suggests as she walks off, using the same innocent tone she'd used on him.

 

Carol raises a hand to comb through her hair. Her fingers catch on a tangle, and she twists back for a moment to give him a magnificent scowl.

 

He allows himself a moment of amusement - a moment of weakness - before he sits on the bed and massages his temples. The mattress barely compresses under his weight, yet a plume of dust floats into the air. He presses his lips together and stands back up. Repairing his armour will have to wait. It's a testimony of how far he's fallen that first, he needs to get his living quarters cleaned.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who left kudos and/or comments! <3
> 
> So there ended up being a lot more technicalities than I originally planned... /laughs nervously/ My foundations in quantum physics are literally zero so fair warning if that part burns anyone's eyes. I hope this is enjoyable regardless!

 

 

> Once the cleaning is done, Yon-Rogg takes the pieces of armour in need of repair and heads out. To his surprise, he doesn't run into any skrulls on his way to the main atrium that doubled as Mar-Vell's research office. It's been cleaned up, but there's still traces of their battle in the scorch marks on the walls and the dents in the metal. Yon-Rogg tears his gaze away, making himself focus on the task at hand. Mar-Vell had always been one to segment the clean and cerebral from the 'dirty', mechanical aspects of her research. It doesn't take long before he spots the door he's searching for.

 

Unlike her open concept research setup, her workshop looks relatively untouched. It's a cosier space, but is still well-ventilated. Yon-Rogg closes the door behind him, then surveys the three workbenches. Each of them hugs a wall. There's a logical sequence from left to right, one bench each dedicated to characterisation, fabrication and optimisation. A few of the machines he doesn't recognise, but he spots what he needs on the middle bench and gets to work. He's just wrapped up soldering the greaves when he senses the door opening, an unknown presence registering on his radar. He looks up.

 

There's a skrull girl looking back at him, peering at him with a mixture of curiosity and caution. She doesn't run away, nor make any move to enter. Yon-Rogg has far outgrown the age to have staring competitions with kids. He slots on his vambraces, activating the universal translator function with a quick slide of the panel.

 

"Do you need something?" He asks, brusque but not unkind.

 

She shrinks from the doorway, then nods, pointing to something outside the room.

 

For supreme intelligence's sake, does the Skrull brat really expect him to drop everything and follow her?

 

The girl lingers in the doorway when he makes no move to stand up. He doesn't miss the glance she sneaks at Yon-Rogg's little workbench setup, nor the way she looks back at him with wary hope. It's an uncomfortable expression to have directed at him. She obviously doesn't know better, to be so naive and sheltered despite her people's situation.

 

Yon-Rogg sighs, sliding his chair backward as he gets up to join her in the doorway. When he closes the gap, she backtracks to maintain the distance between them. Well then, maybe not as foolish as he'd thought, although the few extra metres would do her little good if he truly meant her harm.

 

The girl points to the game machine that has been relegated to a corner of the atrium. The red numbers presumably denoting her high score blink at him, but spider web cracks adorn the glass surface, culminating in a hole near the bottom right corner. Two of the machine's legs have been sliced at uneven heights. He pauses, inspecting the clean cuts. His heart clenches just a little as he places them. He wouldn't be surprised if Korath's energy swords were to be blamed.

 

It doesn't take any leap in logic to guess that the girl wants him to fix the machine.

 

Honestly, the repairs required are nothing complex. But they are very unnecessary; a waste of time and resources. He is _not_ a common mechanic, and has no intention of fostering the misconception of being one. Additionally, the girl isn't a soldier or instrumental in any way. Simply put, her morale doesn't matter.

 

Yon-Rogg presses his lips together. "Can't you ask someone else to fix it?"

 

"They're busy." The girl finally speaks, her voice soft and her eyes downcast.

 

"So am I." He states. It's only partially a lie - he doesn't plan on staying so unoccupied for the rest of his time here.

 

"But you're not in the meeting." She says. Her eyes quickly widen almost comically as she realises her own perceived blunder.

 

He sizes the skrull up. She's young, but not so much so to be brainless. He goes for the most obvious excuse. "I don't have the materials needed."

 

The girl's face falls. "But if papa can find them…?"

 

Papa. Talos. Of course, there aren't that many brats running around in the ship. Even if she isn't the only kid here, he's willing to bet that Talos is the only father currently present.

 

He pauses, shrewdly evaluating her in a new light. It would not hurt to play nice with Talos's offspring, but heightened scrutiny of his suspected ulterior motives would likely backfire far more than a child's positive input could ever gain him.

 

"We will see." Yon-Rogg says eventually. An undeniable air of dismissal leaks into his voice, even though he schools his expression into one of mild regret. "Your father has other things to be preoccupied with."

 

Two voices drift down from the hallway, both female and discussing something in low, harsh tones. The girl blanches and scurries off with one last longing look at the game machine, and then at him.

 

Yon-Rogg shakes his head as he heads back into the workshop, pushing the encounter to the back of his mind.

  
  
*****

 

There's a few civilians sitting in for their discussion. Carol recognises Soren - Talos's wife - of course, but the remaining three are also more friendly than she expected. She can't help feeling that Yon-Rogg wouldn't receive such a warm welcome, so his absence here is probably for the best.

 

"Have I got everything?" Soren turns to the others, looking up from the list of materials the skrulls living on the cruiser had compiled.

 

"Some real food would be good as well." A younger female jokes.

 

Talos pores over the holographic display, scrolling through maps of nearby sectors. "The food and medical supplies, I can get Fremn's team to top up. The herbs and other organic items can be found on any of the planets in this system." He points to a set of four planets. "But the metals…"

 

"You'll get conned into buying knock-offs if you try to acquire them in sector E." A stern looking female skrull confirms. "It's safer to visit the trading belt in sector H."

 

"Indeed." Talos acknowledges, the faint frown on his face betraying his discomfort with the idea. Sector H may be a prosperous merchant district, but most of its inhabitants are hostile to Skrulls for historical reasons.

 

Soren pats his shoulder, even though she looks troubled herself. "It'll take us at least a week to get to sector E, and another two to reach sector H."

 

"No, we can reach sector E in two days." Carol decides, the eyes of everyone in the room falling on her.

 

"Pardon?" A young male skrull who barely looks of age asks - she really needs to get their names.

 

"I can give the ship a boost from the outside to speed things up." Carol says, turning to Talos for confirmation. "But someone will have to set the ship on course."

 

"That's easy enough. But we will switch to cloaked travel again when we're nearer." Talos plans out loud. He gives her an apologetic look. "There's some skilled engineers in the team stationed there. Hopefully, they can figure a workaround for harnessing your power from inside the ship so you don't have to keep going out there."

 

"I really don't mind." Carol shrugs, letting a sharp smile bleed onto her face. It's difficult to explain, but she actually likes the rush of power, the hum of white-hot energy, the feeling of herself against the dark expanse of space. "I could use the practice."

 

*****

 

Dinner is a tragic affair of nutrient pills. Maybe Tenelle - the younger female skrull in the control room - had a point. After a few days worth of fried chicken and grilled seafood, it's a bit of a let down to go back to the space equivalent of rabbit food.

 

She knocks on Yon-Rogg's door. It opens after a single rap of her knuckles. He tilts his head at her in silent inquiry, his hair still damp from the showers. It shouldn't feel normal, but it is, if only because she's known him as her friend far longer than as someone to look out for.

 

"I'm giving you an update on tomorrow's schedule." She says, shoving all of that to the side.

 

"Which is?" Yon-Rogg asks mildly, maybe too much so. He sits at the foot of his bed, and she helps herself to the metal chair.

 

"We're going to stock up on some stuff we couldn't find on C53, and meet up with a bunch of Talos's men. We should reach in sixteen hours." Carol pauses. "You're probably coming with."

 

"Where?" He asks reasonably.

 

"One of the small trading planets. It's a toss up between E17 and E19." She answers.

 

"We're quite far away from sector E." Yon-Rogg states slowly, as if she's dumb.

 

"You forget that you have me." Carol smirks.

 

Yon-Rogg rolls his eyes. "What, are you going to tow the cruiser along?"

 

"I was thinking more pushing, actually, since I'm not so sure about navigation." Carol says airily.

 

Yon-Rogg stares at her. "You're not joking, are you?"

 

"Nope." Carol grins.

 

Yon-Rogg's gaze slides over to his cupboard. "Just as well then. I need to get some clothes and other supplies." He says, his gaze boring into hers. Oops. She forgot about that.

 

"There's some spare shirts in store room one, I think." She runs a finger over the surface of the table, then raises it for inspection. As suspected, there isn't a single speck of dust.

 

"What?" He asks.

 

"I'm surprised you cleaned this place up so much." Carol admits, looking around the rest of the room. It's not sparkling, but it's in a lot better a state than it was this morning, even if it's still as spartan. The only sign of life is his armour, laid out on the table. She notes with a jolt that he's got the greaves back into shape. He must have paid a visit to Mar-Vell's workshop, then.

 

"You mean you didn't?" Yon-Rogg asks, sounding almost scandalised.

 

"Unlike some people, I was busy. I'll dust the bed off later." Carol defends herself. It's not like she's going to be spending a lot of time in there outside sleeping, and a little dust never hurt anyone.

 

Yon-Rogg lets out a long suffering sigh as he stands up, reaches for his gauntlets and slides them on.

 

"What are you doing?" Carol asks. She's aware that there is a logical conclusion to their conversation, but he can't really be using those for that, can he?

 

"Preventing you from developing a respiratory problem." Yon-Rogg states dryly. He grabs a brown cardboard box he's had tucked under his bed, then gestures at her to lead the way.

 

"Isn't this overkill?" She asks as she opens her own door, defensiveness giving way to amusement.

 

"Would you rather use a rag?" Yon-Rogg counters, eyes roving over the meagre belongings she'd haphazardly sprawled all over her bed. He places the box at the center of the room, then takes a piece of scrap paper on top of the dresser, scrunching it into a ball.

 

"Nah, I'm good with your cleaning service." Carol says brightly.

 

Yon-Rogg doesn't deign to reply, instead wordlessly ushering them both back to the doorway. The gauntlets glow faintly green when he activates them, a pale shade of jade instead of the usual violently striking emerald. He rotates one of his hands until the paper ball is suspended in the air, then closes the fingers of his other with a canon-like progression to form a loosely held fist. The layer of dust covering almost every available surface in the room floats up, then flies toward the paper ball, clinging onto it in a gross approximation of a fur coat.

 

It's kind of impressive, but also possibly the most frivolous thing she's ever seen him do. She _tries_ to keep a straight face. She fails.

 

"Neat party trick, but I can't believe you just made a glorified dust magnet." Carol snorts.

 

Yon-Rogg side-eyes her, but there's no true heat in it. "First of all, it isn't a _magnet_. Secondly, I will have you know it takes focus and fine control."

 

"More so than just flinging people around?" She asks with a smirk.

 

Yon-Rogg pauses. There's a considering look on his face when he turns to face her for a brief moment. "In some ways."

 

He flicks a wrist downward almost absently, and the paper ball - hair ball, rather - plunges straight into the box. When he unclenches his fist, the dust melts off the ball like a miniature waterfall.

 

"I gave you an idea, didn't I?" Carol ribs him on principle, although she already knows the answer.

 

"You had little to do with it." Yon-Rogg scoffs, but his voice is coloured with a splash of indulgent amusement. He unclasps the gauntlets, a clear indication of his intention to leave.

 

It should be easy to thank him for helping to clean her room, especially since there was no need for him to, but it isn't. The words get lodged in her throat, and never make it past her lips. The moment passes.

 

"Do you know where the store rooms are?" She asks instead. "The nutrient pills are there too."

 

He doesn't. She shows him, and takes the opportunity to dump the waste out of airlock. Maybe it wouldn't be bad if careful exchanges became their status quo, but this isn't like them. It doesn't feel right to pretend they've got things figured out. Her gut tells her - screams at her - that this is just the calm before the storm. The only question, she thinks grimly, is: who's going to break first?

 

*****

 

The 'night' passes by uneventfully. Yon-Rogg starts his day with his exercises, wishing yet again for proper training facilities on board. He should bring up the topic of converting the large space above the hangar to Carol; if Talos is bringing in some of his military, they're likely to be supportive as well.

 

This time, he runs into a couple of civilians on his way to Mar-Vell's workshop. They keep their distance and make no effort to interact with him. The distrust and avoidance might be inconvenient in the long run, but it suits him for now.

 

Repairing the cuisses goes faster then the greaves, but it still takes up the bulk of his morning. He's thankful that the virtual circuits lie by-and-large intact. The finer mechanics of quantum electronics are things he has never had to grapple with, and having to request for assistance from the skrulls does not appeal to him by a long shot.

 

After a quick break, Yon-Rogg moves on to experiment with his gauntlets. It takes some trial and error, but he eventually manages to configure the setup to detect energy consumption readings with each successive material he suspends. It has been a while since he's had time to spare for side projects like this. It isn't wholly unwelcome, but he would still rather be busy with the strategic side of things.

 

Yon-Rogg isn't clear about exactly how much time passes before he hears the tell-tale sound of the door opening, this time with a purposeful crack. He doesn't have to look up to know who it is. After all, aside from the child, there's only a couple of others who would enter upon seeing him there. And out of those, the only one that would willingly seek out his company is Carol Danvers.

 

Yon-Rogg looks up at the entrance, letting the solid steel ball rest back down on the table with a smooth flick of his wrist. He picks up the stylus with his free hand and jots down readings on the machine.

 

"Have you been doing this all day?" Carol asks in lieu of a greeting as she makes her way towards him.

 

"Yes." He glances up at her, taking in her gaudy armour and the flush of her cheeks. "I take it we're much closer to sector E?"

 

Carol shrugs in non-committal agreement, and he looks back down at his notes.

 

"How does that actually work?" She asks out of the blue, shamelessly perching herself on top of the table.

 

It's just as well he's used to her frequent changes of pace by now.

 

"It's quite a complicated process." Yon-Rogg warns her.

 

"Try me." She grins, a command masquerading as a request.

 

"Do you even know how gravity works?" He asks with exasperation.

 

Carol gives him a dirty look.

 

Yon-Rogg sighs, but launches into a distracted explanation regardless. "What I usually do when I _fling people around_ is modify the gravitational flux lines they're under the influence of by directly varying the drop in local space particle radii. This changes the speed of the spinors per planck square area, which simply put, allows me to vary both the direction and magnitude of centripetal - or well, gravitational acceleration."

 

Carol gives him a strange look, but it quickly morphs into a more measured one when she catches him watching. "At least try to get your point across, will you?" She asks pointedly.

 

"Fine," Yon-Rogg says, putting down his stylus and directing his full attention on her. "As it turns out, I actually have another option." He pauses for a moment, contemplating how to phrase his point without fully losing her. "You know how neutron stars have such a strong gravitational pull? They're the astrophysical equivalent of point masses with a very high density of gravitational flux lines."

 

He suspects she doesn't get all of what he's saying, but she nods and motions for him to go on anyway, so he does.

 

"What I did with the paper ball was temporarily strengthen its gravitational pull, so to speak, by manipulating the distribution of particles instead of changing any property of the particles themselves." Yon-Rogg continues. "From there, the extent to which I condense the mass and increase the density of the flux lines allows the manipulated object to progressively-" He grimaces, "-attract things, starting with whatever experiences the least friction."

 

"Like dust." Carol states, earning herself a nod from him.

 

"So… you're saying it's a lot more energy efficient to use the second method?" Carol asks, inspecting the second gauntlet in her hands from various angles. "Is it because you just control the gravitational field of that one ball instead of a million dust particles?"

 

He's quite impressed that she actually got the gist of it.

 

"There's a lot of gross oversimplification all around, but essentially, yes." Yon-Rogg says slowly. "It's not particularly impactful since the gauntlets don't have many controls for this and I've had to experiment, but it opens up some new possibilities I'm trying to explore."

 

The lack of controls are a barrier, but the main limitation is that trying any form of matter rearrangement with living beings would likely result in highly unpredictable and undesirable consequences, if not an outright disaster. He also can't ignore the consideration that any field strong enough to attract a group of individuals would certainly include him and his allies.

 

"Huh. You know, I used to wonder why those gauntlets of yours weren't mass-produced even though they're dead useful." Carol muses, a corner of her lips quirking up in a smile that's a touch softer than the ones he's got from her recently.

 

He arches an eyebrow. "Your point being?"

 

"That you're surprisingly smart." Carol says with a suspiciously deliberate shrug. "With all your pointing and shooting I never took you for the science-y sort."

 

It's been a while since he has received a compliment, backhanded or not, for anything intellectual. It's always been his marksmanship, his leadership skills, sometimes even his looks - so it's not at all surprising, although still concerning, that this pleases him more than it should.

 

"There's plenty you don't know about me." Yon-Rogg replies, his voice treading the fine line between flippant and dismissive.

 

"Like what?" She doesn't back down; she never backs down. There's an unspoken challenge in her gaze now, encoded in sparks of wildfire that brown eyes should not be able to possess.

 

Yon-Rogg maintains the eye contact as he stands up, deftly disconnecting his gauntlet from the equipment. "You could always ask and find out." He doesn't look away, because he's never been good at that either.

 

Carol watches him for another moment, then swings her legs, breaking the charged tension. "So, while Mar-Vell focused her research on light and relativity, you were working on gravity?"

 

Yon-Rogg stiffens, a flash of irritation seizing his chest at hearing her name yet again. Would the comparisons never cease?

 

"Mar-Vell was a scientist foremost, and a soldier second. I was the opposite." Yon-Rogg answers in a clipped tone. "I never _worked_ on gravity manipulation beyond writing my thesis and collaborating with a team of scientists and engineers to devise the gauntlets. Mar-Vell, on the other hand, was a pioneering scientist and had published almost a dozen ground-breaking papers by the time I made commander."

 

A couple of those papers had been on the effect of gravity on photon wavelengths and time dilation, all of which might have been stepping stones to her research on the light engine. He'd let her bounce off ideas on him when they had down time in their missions, all the way back when the three of them had been a team. A real one. But that was a lifetime ago, and now, he's the only one left who's even alive to tell the tale.

 

Yon-Rogg almost jolts when Carol reaches out to place a hand on his arm. He tenses, but lets her touch linger. Shrugging out of the casual touch would be just as telling.

 

"You don't like talking about her." Carol says. He hears the undercurrent of curiosity; the wish for an explanation. He doesn't entertain it.

 

"Congratulations for stating the obvious." He says, lacing his words with a healthy dose of sarcasm.

 

Unfortunately, although Carol narrows her eyes, she doesn't take the bait. Instead, she asks the question he thought she would. _Of course_ she does. Anything to learn more about her beloved Mar-Vell.

 

_“So, what's your history?"_

 

Yon-Rogg exhales sharply, whittling his spike of anger down into a dull thrum coursing through his veins. "I don't want to talk about it." He says coldly.

 

"Why not?" She presses, her tone taking on a shade of impatience, the slightest suggestion of a threat.

 

Frankly, it's irrational. He knows he's treading on thin ice as it is even without being difficult, but this conversation is one he wants to avoid at all costs. If he could simply laugh and deflect, or walk away, he would. But he's no longer her superior; she won't let that come to pass. And so - "It's not like talking about her will bring her back." He replies, sounding completely matter-of-fact and self-justified.

 

It's a low blow, and this time, Yon-Rogg gets a reaction. Her eyes flare up, the force behind her glare probably enough to incinerate a lesser being on the spot.

 

"Which you made sure of. But that proves my point. You owe me an explanation." Carol hisses. She's probably unaware of the way the strength of her grip has grown, of how her nails have begun to dig into his flesh.

 

"Not about this." He sneers.

 

That's the scene that Talos walks in to. His expression of vitriol, her death grip on his arm, a vicious tension in the air between them. He wrenches his arm out of Carol's grip just as she abruptly drops it, resulting in an excessive, exaggerated motion. They both ignore it in favour of turning to face Talos, who looks increasingly uncomfortable.

 

"We're nearing planet E17." The skrull says, his voice deliberately composed.

 

Yon-Rogg exchanges a look with Carol. The air is still fraught with tension; frustration still simmers beneath his skin, and her clenched fists say it all. But they manage to reach an unspoken agreement: 'Later.'


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments! And apologies for the later-than-planned update /hides/ This chapter might seem a bit dry, but I always meant to go into some detail for the Skrull home-finding process… and for the sake of a coherent plot (+ more fun in the future), here we go:

Carol is already in her armour, and it's a mere matter of minutes for Yon-Rogg to get into his. She frowns at the default Starforce colours he wears, but manages to bite back the disparaging comment that first comes to her mind. The last thing they need is an argument.

 

"So, you're saying one of us should go with you and act impatient for an… anti-con con while the other guards the ship and glares at anyone who looks shifty?" Carol summarises the gist of Talos's rundown on their situation. 

 

"Yes." Talos says after a pause, looking a lot more in his element now that they're discussing business. "And whoever is guarding the ship should look out for a group of skrulls, although I should be back by then. Fremn's team will report straight to the landing ship's coordinates. The other group will rendezvous with us directly at the cruiser later."

 

She looks at Yon-Rogg, who tilts his head at her in an indication of 'either-or', his face now a blank mask. Ever so good at compartmentalising on the job - it used to annoy her whenever he swept things under the rug for the sake of a mission, but that's probably for the best right now. The Skrulls are what she's here for, not _him_. Her answers can wait - for a while, at least. 

 

"I call dibs on not waiting around." Carol says in a deliberately casual tone. She breaks their eye contact before they end up in another staring match.

 

"I'll take guard duty." Yon-Rogg confirms, terse and professional.

 

Talos's gaze slides over them both. He nods, and that's that.

 

*****

 

The area of E17 they land at is one which Talos is familiar with for some reason or the other. It has a relatively flat desert terrain with gravitational strength somewhere in between that of Hala and C53. The sweltering temperatures are off-putting, but she's honestly felt worse even back on Earth.

 

Talos guides Carol to land the ship at an open area a short distance away from a bunch of seemingly haphazardly erected buildings. There aren't any other ships nearby, and the scant few reptilian locals who see them regard them with either curiosity, or complete disinterest. Neither group attempts to approach them, except for one half-hearted attempt by a food vendor.

 

Yon-Rogg scans the surrounding area methodically, then looks back at them. "I'll have better vantage from there." He jerks his head toward one of the relatively isolated buildings roughly sixty metres away.

 

Talos nods in acknowledgement, then turns back to continue surveying the locals as Yon-Rogg walks away. Carol stares unashamedly as Talos transforms once no one else is watching them, his skin rippling outwards as scales form and tessellate. The entire process is over in the blink of an eye.

 

Talos guides them both forward. This time, no one gives them more than a second glance.

 

"Wouldn't the in-built cloaking of the ship have been enough?" Carol asks, a mix of both curiosity and knowing amusement in her voice.

 

"No need to draw attention with technology during the on and off processes." Talos says mildly. "Extra protection never hurts."

 

Carol snorts. "True, although fair warning that he probably also realised that you just didn't want him on the cruiser without either of us there."

 

"I wouldn't have expected anything less." Talos replies with a dry smile.

 

"I didn't want to say it in front of the rest, but I'm surprised you even agreed to this, actually." Carol says, her tone serious although there's a joking smirk on her face. "With me around, it's not like you need any extra brawn."

 

"We could always use an extra pair of hands." Talos says, an air of resignation in his voice. "I admit I'd rather he provide more… brains, as the saying goes, since he's had more insight into Kree operations. But even if he doesn't," Talos pauses for a moment, his tone growing a few degrees colder. "It's still a greater setback for them to lose a competent operative than for us to have a semi-helpful liability."

 

Carol blinks. After seeing him with his family, it's easy to forget that Talos didn't get to his position by chance. As it is, as he continues speaking, his tone lightens back to what she's used to. "Besides, I'm kind of curious. Out of the krees I've personally met, he's only the third I've seen to have much qualms about certain things."

 

"Third?" Carol prompts. She kicks a loose rock on the ground, sending it skittering to the side.

 

"Depending on if you consider yourself a kree." Talos clarifies awkwardly.

 

Her, a _kree_? She blanches at the idea. On one hand, it's true that her blood is for all purposes and intents Kree. Biologically speaking, she's a hybrid - human, kree, weird cosmic powers: the works. She doesn't know if she'll age like a human or a kree, which means her lifespan may be anywhere from a hundred to a thousand. But what's six years of memories and change compared to over twenty years of history? She was born on Earth. Her childhood was spent roughing it out on the pitch, her career training in the USAF, and there's still the relationships she's forged and lost along the way. All of that matters more than what has happened since then, even if only because she thinks so. 

 

"I still consider myself human." Carol says slowly.

 

Talos looks chagrined, an expression that really doesn't suit the sallow face he's currently wearing. "I see. I didn't mean to offend you, considering what you experienced in their hands."

 

There's that coil of frustration at the bottom of her stomach again. It's an irrational mix of wanting to call Yon-Rogg out -  _he isn't sorry, he doesn't even get what was wrong about it, does he_ \- and not wanting to talk about it any further. It happened. It was pretty messed up. It's her own business. She doesn't want any sort of sob story to be public knowledge, or worse still, her defining feature.

 

"Nah, don't worry about it." Carol eventually shrugs, waving her hand in dismissal before the silence grows too long. "Anyway, you said you were familiar with this area. What's the deal with that?"

 

Talos goes along with the subject change quite gratefully. She gets a story about cantinas and other family-run businesses that have long since shut their doors, and how most of the younger generations have trickled out of the town for the few coastal cities nearby, leaving behind a progressively shadier and underutilised district. Granted, Talos focuses on how it's one of the few trading areas Skrulls have access to since towns like this have little patience for intergalactic politics, but Carol can't help comparing it to problems of rural-urban migration back on Earth. The general idea that there's communities out here facing the same sort of issues as humans do, despite being so biologically different, is kind of sobering.

 

Hearing the prices the more enterprising locals who've stayed charge non-locals still alarms her, though. It's a pity the storeowners would catch on immediately to their bulk purchases, or Talos could go in alone and get them at a bargain.  

 

They pass by a beggar sitting on the ground by the side of another abandoned, dilapidated structure. After another two right turns, the street slowly widens into some kind of central boulevard.

 

"Ah, here we are." Talos announces quite suddenly, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand.

 

Carol looks around. It still smells like fertiliser, but the overall atmosphere is quite different from the seedier areas they've walked through. With more shops around and an actual effort at creating some aesthetic appeal, there's still a bazaar vibe in this area, especially with the colourful tent storefronts. A bunch of locals interspersed by a couple of non-natives bustle around, some purposeful and others just ambling.

 

Talos guides them to one of the bigger stores, his demeanour transforming as he does. His stride closes up and slows down into a lazy stroll; his shoulders droop into a slight hunch. When he next turns to face her, there's an overly wide smile on his face. He gestures her forward with an ushering wave of his hand.

 

The ability to take on different personalities so well is somewhat disturbing, but it's also pretty cool to watch.

 

"This store has very good quality goods!" Talos announces in semi-fluent Kree once they're in earshot of the shopkeeper, a burly local observing them with predatory interest. Carol assumes that means she's supposed to pretend her universal translator doesn't exist. She gives the shopkeeper a brittle smile, then makes a show of nodding impatiently and pointedly telling Talos to get on with it.

 

Talos launches into a flurry of discussion with the shopkeeper in the locals' native tongue. It begins with wide smiles on both sides, then quickly progresses into a tense few minutes involving passionate gesturing and passive-aggressive posturing. For her part, Carol fakes complete ignorance of their discussion topic, instead tapping her foot and glancing pointedly at her holographic watch. Eventually, the negotiations finish with the "additional profits" being split 50-50. The shopkeeper turns to flash her a leering smile, then waves his hand. Two assistants lurking behind the counter come out to help pack their order into carton boxes.

 

"They have everything you need. This is the cost." In Carol's opinion, Talos lays on the innocence of his tone a bit thick, but the greasy smile the shopkeeper flashes at that makes her think that that's just how it is around here.

 

"Fine." Carol tells Talos, giving the fake green-light on the transaction, which goes along smoothly.

 

Once the four carton boxes are packed and they check the goods, they leave the shop, each of them carrying two.

 

"So?" Carol asks curiously, once they're far enough.

 

Talos grins at her, a satisfied gleam in his eye. "We got everything we need, at a rather reasonable price indeed."

 

"Back to the ship then." Carol laughs. Running slightly-questionable heists really wasn't what she had expected to be doing when she signed up for this, but it's… interesting enough.

 

*****

 

It's the shift in the air around him that tips Yon-Rogg off. His instincts scream at him to duck - and he does, narrowly missing having a bullet through his head. He stays low as he twists to the right and draws his pistol, firing at the doorway.

 

It's not his best shot, but it does its job. His assailant stumbles backward, free hand clamped over his inner thigh. Yon-Rogg takes one look at his light armour, then wastes no time re-aiming. This time, he takes out a knee cap. The man hisses in pain, but has enough sense to protect his vitals and roll to the side. Four more figures emerge from behind him, blocking off Yon-Rogg's exit route.

 

These aren't locals; this isn't simple robbery - and Yon-Rogg doubts that Talos would have instructed one of his teams to disguise themselves and kill him. This means they're actually a rag-tag bunch of hired mercenaries. They don't look like much, but they're experienced enough not to simply stand there and let him shoot them, confident in the notion of safety in superior numbers.

 

Yon-Rogg lunges sideways to avoid a volley of shots aimed at his head, then dives to the floor, narrowly avoiding the swinging arc of a machete.

 

Their attacks might be relentless, but they aren't coordinated enough to leave him no room to manoeuvre. They're fighting as individuals, not as parts of a well-oiled machine, and that's going to be his angle. The wildcard is the sniper who had first shot at him. There's no way for Yon-Rogg to deal with that beyond preventing a clear line-of-sight. He has no choice but to keep the fight close to the ground, with only the central pillar as some sort of leeway.

 

The man he'd injured is still by the doorway, observant and providing actual cover fire. He needs to go; Yon-Rogg needs to break the momentum of their onslaught and take the initiative. Once he sees the opening, he takes it. He clenches his fist and flicks his wrist, crudely flinging the man into the rest of the mercenaries like a wrecking ball, forcing the four of them to disperse.

 

They aren't expecting it - they don't know about his arsenal, then - and one of the males doesn't  react fast enough. It's pure luck on Yon-Rogg's part that two of the knives that leave his hand embed in the neck of the unfortunate soul. There's a gurgling sound, and then he crumples to the ground, clearly dead.

 

_Not skrulls, confirmed_.

 

There's a moment of shocked silence on the part of the mercenaries. Yon-Rogg seizes the opportunity, landing a clean shot on the knife-thrower's dominant hand. The man yells out in pain.

 

"Not bad, Commander." The one with a distinctive scar speaks, presumably the leader. So, they know his position. He leaps at Yon-Rogg, brandishing twin daggers.

 

"Who sent you?" Yon-Rogg asks, his question almost drowned out by the screech of metal on metal as he raises an arm to block the blow.

 

"Now now, we are _professionals_.” The same man replies, nimbly jumping backward as Yon-Rogg goes on the offensive.

 

"If you were, I would be dead. Not him." Yon-Rogg points out. He suppresses a smirk as one of the others - the Sakaaran - snarls, charging ahead foolishly at them with a blunt-trauma weapon in his hands, no finesse whatsoever.

 

Yon-Rogg side-steps the poorly executed attack, using the momentum of his run against him in a grapple and throw. The Sakaaran falls directly in the path of the leader, causing them both to be out of commission for a precious few seconds.

 

The other two come at him.

 

Caught between a blade and a kick, Yon-Rogg chooses to dodge the stab and take the hit straight on. He loses his breath momentarily, but the worst of the impact is dulled by his breastplate. He recovers quickly enough to sweep his own leg out, sending the female careening onto the floor with him. He brings the back of his pistol down hard on her hand, causing her to drop her machete - possibly breaking a few bones while he's at it.

 

Before Yon-Rogg can finish the job, the knife-thrower pounces on him. They start tussling, Yon-Rogg keeping them constantly in motion to deter anyone waiting for a clear shot. He jabs an elbow up and out, brutally digging a knee into the wound on his hand, and the man's grip slackens enough for Yon-Rogg to break away. He jumps back up to his feet, levelling his pistol at the mercenary's face, simultaneously brandishing his gauntlet at the rest.

 

"Even if you manage to beat us, you'll be shot if you try to leave." The leader hisses.

 

"I wouldn't be so sure. Your sniper is dead." A decidedly female voice rings out. All four of them swivel to glance at the entrance. It's a grave mistake.

 

Yon-Rogg steps out from behind the pillar, trusting that Carol isn't bluffing, and pulls the four of them up into the air with a magnitron surge. He slams the two closest to him into the walls, the strength of the impact leaving cracks in the concrete. The knife-thrower he drops unceremoniously; the leader he pins in place with crushing pressure.

 

He turns to his right just in time to see Carol punch one of the two he'd sent flying towards her, the force of it tossing her backwards with a loud crash. The Sakaaran is already slumped on the ground before her, limbs splayed at an awkward angle. Neither of them gets up.

 

How the tables turn.

 

Yon-Rogg exhales slowly, letting the edge of the fight fade. "How did it go?" He turns to ask Carol.

 

"Much less eventful than this. They headed up to the ship first." Carol says.

 

So, he's the only target.

 

He gives Carol a quick hand signal, and she responds in kind with a flash of two fingers, then four. Two dead - the sniper, and the one he'd shot; three unconscious and the one they're about to talk to. A believable casualty count should they have succeeded. Yon-Rogg nods slowly, then turns back to face the ostensible leader. "How did you find me?"

 

The man coughs, glaring at the floor. Yon-Rogg eases the pressure just enough for him to be able to speak.

 

"I would talk, if I were you." Carol intones. She's returned to her original position by the door, her eyes glowing threateningly.

 

The mercenary looks up and sneers at them in turn. "Why don't you ask your team?"

 

_Team_? Yon-Rogg nearly lets out an amused scoff. It's a weak attempt at sowing discord - he obviously doesn't know who 'they' refers to. And if they aren't aware of that, then it's not a spy – and wouldn’t that have been ironic?

 

"I'm not above extracting the answer from you by any means necessary." Yon-Rogg continues, keeping his tone infuriatingly conversational.

 

"Of course." The mercenary spits. "And then you'll kill me after I crack, right?"

 

Those hadn't been his proudest moments, but some cases had been unavoidable. As it is, Carol glares at the man. "What you would have done in our position, I assume."

 

The mercenary doesn't bother denying it.

 

"If I'd wanted to kill all of you, I'd have flung you out of the building, not into the wall." Yon-Rogg continues coldly. "Luckily for you, your deaths would benefit me less than your success."

 

Carol turns to face him sharply.

 

If the Supreme Intelligence wanted him dead, it would be a Kree squad hunting him down - likely the remaining members of Starforce, actually. Traitors… have always been dealt with internally. That an external group of mercenaries is involved reeks of politics; a power play by someone who doesn't want him to reappear. There's more than a handful candidates who could be responsible, although the most suspect are those in the running for leadership of Starforce.

 

"I'm staying out of your internal squabbles." The mercenary grumbles, catching his drift. "I haven't even met the guy who hired us."

 

So it seems to be a Kree, his words suggest there's no credible spy; no regular meetings with periodic updates. Taking into account how they had only appeared once they landed, outside the influence of Mar-Vell's signal cloaking system...

 

"You got involved the moment you got access to my tracker." It's almost a wild guess, but Yon-Rogg frames it as an accusation nonetheless.

 

To the best of his knowledge, none of the rest of the Starforce uniforms contain built-in trackers - aside from Vers's implant, but that doesn't count. It's plausible that its commander's suit would contain one, if only for the purpose of extraction in the event of torture, in turn for fear of an information leak. That its presence was never revealed to him is more… concerning. He can see the rationale, but he doesn't like it.

 

The mercenary's reply is largely irrelevant. The counter-intuitive way his features go carefully blank says it all. As it is, there's only one place the tracker could be, its presence masked by countless other components.

 

Yon-Rogg appraises the group's equipment, his gaze roving past the various blades and firearms strewn around the room to land on the Sakaraan's club-like weapon, with a solid sphere on one end of the long handle. He liberates it from its owner, testing its weight in his hands. Yon-Rogg presses his lips together. It'll be rather troublesome to lose his armour's control panel, but he doesn't have much of a choice. Hopefully, they can fix something up using Carol's intact one as a reference.

 

Both Carol and the mercenary stare at him when he takes off his vambrace, suspends it, then brings the club down onto it with a decisive swing. The control panel screen cracks and the display sputters off. For added realism, he drops it to the ground and steps on it harshly, grinding his foot in to shape the dent. It's a decent overall recreation of the sort of damage needed to down him, followed by the crude kicking of a presumed corpse to check for signs of life.

 

Yon-Rogg looks back at the mercenary. "Get back to whoever it is you're taking orders from-"

 

"We don't take _orders_.” The male snarls, and Yon-Rogg has to fight the urge to roll his eyes at his apparent priorities.

 

" _Money_ , then." Yon-Rogg amends, letting a healthy dose of warning creep into his tone. "Tell whoever it is that you succeeded. Bring that back to them." He tosses the mangled piece of armour at his feet.

 

"That's not going to be enough." The man says bluntly.

 

That's partially his point. It would be best if whoever it is simply takes his reported death at face value, but whatever does happen in response will help to clarify what kind of person it is that is trying to off him, and the lengths they will go to ensure it.

 

"I'm sure you can embellish the details." Yon-Rogg says dismissively. He loosens the pressure holding him in place, then glances at Carol. She accepts the invitation, knocking out the mercenary with a backhand blow.

 

They take a step back from him.

 

Yon-Rogg lets his eyes rove over Carol, taking in the lack of injuries, the fading glow in her eyes - new, but strangely fitting - and the tangles in her hair. It's both more difficult and easier than ever to keep his inspection strictly clinical, but he manages.

 

It doesn't help that she's doing the same thing. One of her hands twitch upwards, then back to her side, and in the end, all Carol does is narrow her eyes at the graze on his cheek.

 

"Are you getting rusty?" She asks, using that same vague combination of blunt and teasing in her tone. It's difficult to tell which is dominant.

 

Yon-Rogg gives her a look. "I was trying to contain the fight."

 

"Fine." She purses her lips, her tone growing more serious as her gaze drifts from his cheek to his eyes. "Did you know about the tracker?"

 

In the capacity of an ex-mentor, he's proud of her suspicion, although her questioning could stand to be less straightforward. Personally, however, he can't help but feel irked by it.

 

"No. Do you really think I had the resources or wish to stage my own assassination attempt?" Yon-Rogg asks, a trace of actual frustration lacing his words.

 

"You could still have wanted to lead the Supreme Intelligence to us." Carol counters, and it could be true, but it _isn’t._

 

"If they found me in those circumstances, I'd be killed before the rest of you, likely before I could explain myself." Yon-Rogg says dryly. He'd been on thin ice ever since the Mar-Vell and Vers debacle, and he wouldn’t be surprised by an outright execution order.

 

Carol searches his expression for a few more seconds, then eventually sighs, something in her giving. "You'll need some sort of replacement control panel, won't you?"

 

"If possible." Yon-Rogg concedes with a grudging nod, scanning the room around him. "We shouldn't delay our return any longer."

 

"Yeah." Carol pauses, giving him an exaggerated once-over. "If I go slow, you should be able to survive me flying us both back up. Your helmet still works, right?"

 

Yon-Rogg grimaces as he manually inputs the code for securing his helmet. It's one of the few functions he remembers.

 

"You're not bridal carrying me again." He says sternly.

 

"Fine, pack-strap then." Carol smirks, looking far more amused than she should be.

 

She stands there expectantly, and Yon-Rogg feels ridiculous as he closes the gap between them. He wraps his arms over her shoulders, trying to carrying as much of his own weight as he can without smothering her. One of Carol's hands comes up to strengthen the grip, positioned in such a way that she covers most of his exposed forearm with her own. It's… an admittedly considerate gesture. She squats forward, forcing him to lift his feet off the ground - and the world erupts into a blur of motion as Carol takes off without warning. Again.

 

The short trip back to the cruiser is spent in silence, if only because talking isn't feasible while Yon-Rogg hangs on for dear life.

 

He's no stranger to people with murderous intent. But generally, he's used to convenient attacks on the battlefield, not targeted assassination, clumsy as the attempt might have been. It would be terrifyingly easy if Carol was on the job. She could strand him or send him to his death by way of immolation by a star, even right now.

 

Of course, Yon-Rogg reflects with a touch of self-deprecation, that's probably how they feel about him. And truthfully, the likelihood of that is much higher than Carol ever killing him - on anyone else's behalf, at least.

 

Carol's grip on his arms loosens as they enter the cruiser, the yellow-white glow emanating from her body fading as their feet touch solid ground. He lets go.

 

The unmistakable sound of laughter rings loudly from the next room, followed by what seems to be jubilant cheering.

 

They exchange a look at that as they start leaving the hangar for the central alcove.

 

"I don't think we were missed." Carol murmurs.

 

That, Yon-Rogg thinks wryly, is probably an understatement. The room grows noticeably quieter at their entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Good news: I already have around half of Chap 5 written, so the next update shouldn't take so long this time around!) 
> 
> As usual, do let me know your thoughts :)

**Author's Note:**

> So this isn't my first rodeo, but it's the first in this huge fandom. This plot bunny has been hanging around in my PC folders ever since I watched the movie, and I finally ironed out where I want it to go (also because I need something to work on after endgame). Thoughts?


End file.
